Hi everyone. Just to let you know this is my first ever fan fic writing experience. Let me know what you think. If you guys like it, I will keep the story going.

I have seen this on all writings, so I shall er on the side of caution and do the same. Disclaimer: Dick Wolfe owns them, I just play with them.

Attica Correctional Facility
Exchange St
Attica, New York 14011-0149

The walls were grey, as were the clothes he wore and the very chair he was sitting in. A sea of colorless grime as far as the eye could see; which was far too short a distance for his liking. At least he wasn't clad in an orange jumpsuit, with a ball and chain shackled to his ankle. But the alternative wasn't much better.

He had been wading through this grey monotony for nearly 9 years. Life was a routine of eating, sleeping and watching your back. He had no friends in here. His only glimmer of sweet serenity was outside these walls.

A smile crept across his face. She could always do that to him. Just the thought of her and he was a free man. He relished it.

There was a commotion in the common room. Looking down over the railing he could see two inmates fighting over the channel of the television. He was never one for watching TV, although it helped when a distraction was in order.

A guard came and broke up the fight, making the decision for them, like a parent with disagreeing children. The humiliation proved too much for the two frustrated men and they stalked off, each sending fleeting glances towards the other. Surely a plan of retribution was brewing in their heads. But he gave little thought or care to the goings on with the other inmates. His focus now lay purely on the screen.

He approached the stairs and took them two at a time to gain access to a chair closest the monitor. He slipped the headphones over his ears, catching the tail end of a news broadcast.

A male reporter sitting in a brightly lit studio had just finished advising the public that a murder had taken place in the Manhattan District, and they were going live to the scene.

The image changed to a stunning blonde holding a microphone in front of an apartment building in downtown Manhattan.

As he watched, he studied her body. Imagining what she'd be like to touch, to taste and ultimately how he could make her suffer, make her beg for his mercy. He imagined she wouldn't take long to break, with her delicate features and perfect poise.

She began describing the events of the evening as best her information provided.

A woman, mid to late thirties, was found raped and murdered in her apartment. The name and any other information about the victim were being withheld till family could be notified.

Though the reporter was unable to provide the information crucial to the police investigation he knew was surely underway, he didn't need to hear the facts from her pretty mouth. He knew the case well. Intimately if you will.

Although he wasn't their physically, he savored the imagined sensations. The feel of skin, bare and trembling in his hands; the taste of fear, ripened in the air, giving off an almost electrified current, the smell of blood, when it came, in all its aromatic coppery brilliance, all these too intense for him while sitting among so many men. He needed to be in his cell, alone, to be able to fully appreciate the lust such pain brought about.

Swept away in his blissful daydreams, he almost missed her. His one true love. She had appeared on the screen, in all her glorifying strength and defiance.

Although he had been keeping track of her since she helped lock him away, her appearance often changing, she was never more stunning than as she appeared to him on that screen. A dark shock of hair gently splayed across her left eye. And what beautiful eyes they were, almond brown and darkly transfixing. As if she could see right through you. Her figure had filled out a bit, which he liked. He imagined supple breasts and hips he could latch onto. She used to be more muscle than curves; he imagined that was her protective wall against the world she fought against. A world of evil men and their deeds; men like him.

She had become aware of the cameras, and was now looking directly at them. It was as if she was looking at him, and their eyes had met, like lovers across a darkened room.

He found himself next to the screen, pressing his hand in a gentle caress of her face. Her features responding to his touch.

He ignored the crude screams and bellows uttered by his fellow inmates.

"Move your crazy ass!" "Get out of the fucking way man, I can't see the screen!"

It was as if the room were empty, but for the two of them.

Just as quickly her image disappeared from the screen, as the man in the studio began rattling off sports stats from the latest games.

Broken from his reverie, Richard turned away from the screen and began his journey towards his cell, where he could be alone with his thoughts. Thoughts of her and that beautiful brunette his new pen pal had honored him with.

A smile spread across his face as he whispered to himself, "Olivia. My sweet Olivia. I shall see you soon."